The air is muggy and thick, humidity swelters over the rapidly moving river and the surrounding land around it. She had come here seeking some sort of relief from the hottest time of the year, the sun burning a perfect orange in the late afternoon sky. Perhaps the forest would have been a better option, retaining some sort of supernatural coldness even in the midst of summer. But she’s not ready to go there. Not yet. So she ambles along the bank, her golden eyes carefully watching the rapids, before she finally steps around sycamore and birch to wade into a shallow part where the river isn’t so aggressive and won’t sweep her away.

Birdsong calls all along the many treetops that span the area and she sighs softly as she lets the cool water chase away some of the sticky perspiration that clings to her fur, dirt fading from her buttery coat that she had collected on the way here. A heron darts it’s long bill into the streaming fluidity of the river, fishing nonchalantly and seemingly unperturbed by how close she was. In return, the little unicorn settles herself more firmly as she lowers her haunches, letting the coolness surround her before standing and letting the water roll over her. Dark strands become plastered to her dappled jaguar neck, the flowers entangled in her mane and tail showing no signs of distress, in fact some new ones start to bloom within the thick threads of hair. Vines uncurling and weaving itself into tiny braids.

A sigh of pleasure escapes her as she slowly removes herself, only moving enough that the river swirls around her limbs and the tip of her tail floats on the water’s surface. This is how she is found by whoever comes along on this hot summer day. Relaxed and unbothered on the surface as she does her best to beat the heat.

She has a habit of attracting dark things.

Perhaps it’s because she is a bright soul, with her buttermilk skin and jungle flowers, a picture of innocence. Maybe they can sense that amazonian resolve that makes her more of a challenge to break. Maybe on a subconscious level they are drawn to her for a different reason, sensing something beneath that calm doe-eyed exterior. The blood of jungle cats that runs thick in her veins that make her stand her ground when in the face of another predator.

She has witnessed plenty of darkness in her life, had been born to two lovers that ended up destroying each other and she had watched every part of it unfold before her very golden eyes. The aftermath of her dam’s assault and the torturous punishment on Lion. She had still loved him, even after what he had done. Just as she had still loved her mother after watching her nearly raze the jungle and Sisterhood to the ground in her white knuckled campaign for justice. What did that say about her? That she could still care for someone even after seeing the worst in them, even if they were a monster?

They say the sins of the father may fall on the son but what about their daughters? What burden do they inherit?

She does not move from her position when he comes to join her, a ghost of a smile whispering over her dark lips as she notices he doesn’t wait for her approval. He is a handsome stallion, a kaleidoscope of green, white, and gold. Her tarnished gaze glances over the fine feathery wings before meeting the lavender of his eyes. “Of course.” She says quietly, staying firmly planted where she was. There was plenty river for them both, if he remained close then that was a choice. Intentional.

She says nothing more, simply looking up at him beneath long lashes as he comes closer. She knows better than to immediately trust a pretty face, aware that some snakes wore a mask before shedding their skin and revealing the sin beneath. Perhaps he was the devil himself, lurking beneath that handsome exterior. Perhaps she wouldn’t mind if he was.

If she was to know his mind, it wouldn’t necessarily be his thoughts of pulling her beneath the water that would anger her. Oh she would be upset of course, she does not pine for death like some do, a reasonable reaction when someone tries to murder you. She wears the dappled print of the jaguar and understands they cannot change their spots, they cannot be anything but what they are. She is as she is just as he is what he is. To discover the predator within him would at least be something she can understand. It is the thought of being collected in any kind of matter that would flame her fury. Not just collected (for she belongs to no-one but herself) but becoming just one more fish in a massive sea. The thought of being just another number among thousands, another notch on a bedpost or just another name on a long list of previous victims..No, she did not want to be “just another.”

If he was to pull her under, hers would be the last face he ever saw. And if she couldn’t manage that then she, with her last dying breath, would make sure that she was the one victim he could never rid himself of, that he would never forget.

However she is ignorant to his mind and his intentions. So she remains docile and indifferent even as he slips further into the water with a charming smile. She smiles as well, inwardly, when she notices his gaze upon her flowers. Something about their cloying scent seems to make even the devil stop to smell them. He is nothing but gentlemanly, polite and calm as he inquires about them, but there’s a strange prickling in her gut. With Tunnel she had known exactly what he was about when he had approached her. This one seems his opposite and yet… Yet there is something that pulls at her brain and whispers “Be careful.” She’s not sure why and she’s not even sure she will listen.

“Passion flowers.” She responds just loud enough to be heard over the gurgling rapids. “You can find them in the jungle.” She tilts her head slightly as her golden eyes absorb him, her horn glinting in the sparkling sunlight that reflects off the water’s surface. “You would fit in well there.” She says with a whisper of a smile, lingering on the deep green of his body. Molech, he gives to her. Quite a name, ominous even. “I’m Bardot.” She watches the way his goldenrod tail flows with the river current before bringing her gaze back to his lavender ones. She says nothing more deciding to follow that feeling in her gut after all and falls back on observing him rather than talking. Would he come closer to her? Would he make sure that her focus remained on him? Or would he lose interest and ignore her completely? Perhaps if he did, she would come to him. He was quite handsome after all and she belonged to no-one. No-one but herself.

Bardot hadn’t much experience with magic, the flowers and horn being recent additions, and had grown up in a time where magic was more of a rarity. Sometimes she forgets that almost everyone carried a secret now. Her overall resilience in the jungle and learned experiences had served her as a shield for all this time, a magic of its own nature, but she still is unaware of this ability that she has herself. One that needs no fairies touch. He snorts and she blinks at him, wondering what thought had passed through his handsome head. He thinks of those begging to be patched up and she wonders if he senses something broken in her. It’s a strange thought to have but his charming smile doesn’t entirely light up his brilliant eyes and she remembers the rumble of Tunnel’s mouth against her skin and finds that there is something comparable in the two.

She finds the beauty in the brokenness, the desire in the darkness, the redemption in the terrible.

Perhaps this is why he has a harder time trying to find a way past her mental barriers, for there is nothing in her that she desires to be fixed. To be mended. She acknowledges those sharp edges in herself and embraces them regardless, lets them pierce through her skin and flood her with feeling.

”The jungle?” He asks and she watches the little flick of his calm gaze go up to her horn. A few days ago she had held it against a blue stallions throat before she had melted into his hard embrace but both had been aware it might have gone differently, that there was an outcome where she removed her horn from his throat, blood running down the spiraled paths to drip from her forehead. Beauty or a weapon, why could it not be both?

He says he has never seen one and she blinks again, a flutter of dark lashes against brilliant gold. What makes him jungle like? “Your coat would blend in for one.” She says softly but that’s not it, not really. He is handsome and striking like a dart frog, the beautiful ones with the promise of death lingering on their skin, hidden beneath the surface. That’s what he reminds her of with his charming smile that doesn’t quite reach those calm lavender eyes. “Shall I show you one day?”

She asks with a slight tilt of her head, that whisper of a smile ghosting on dark lips. Glancing away and then finding him coming closer. Her own muscles spasm slightly in response but she keeps herself relaxed as he wades closer, in fact she extends her muzzle as if to bump gently against his, to breathe him in and see what kind of monster she had caught herself today.